


work left in my hands

by somehowunbroken



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Emotions, M/M, Multi, Post-Trade, Shock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 14:30:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19443346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somehowunbroken/pseuds/somehowunbroken
Summary: It's quiet, after.That's the thing that jumps out to Alexander—a three-minute phone call that he hadn't been expecting, a handful of words aboutopportunityandgratitudeandyou'll be okay, you'll be good, and—It's quiet.





	work left in my hands

**Author's Note:**

> hello i process my feelings through writing come and cry with me
> 
> unbetaed, mistakes my own, too sad to ask someone else to read this through for me before posting it.
> 
> title from "[carry you](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VWwCgFkoLhA)" by the native sibling. i'm sad.
> 
> basically,  
> 

It's quiet, after.

That's the thing that jumps out to Alexander—a three-minute phone call that he hadn't been expecting, a handful of words about _opportunity_ and _gratitude_ and _you'll be okay, you'll be good_ , and—

It's quiet.

He has to talk to his mom, he knows. She shouldn't find out from social media, not when he's got the chance to tell her himself. And he should call Mo, probably, connect with the guy in Toronto that he already knows, and he should text Barrie, see what's going on there. He should, he really should, but there are two birds chirping at each other right outside his window, faint and pissed-sounding, and it's easier to focus on that right now. Maybe he can sync his breathing to the way they're yelling at each other, because he's sure not finding any kind of steadiness on his own right now.

He's still holding his phone, and he jumps then it vibrates. He glances down; it's a text from Barrie, and all it says is _text them first._

Alexander switches text threads and does.

-0-

Reporters want to talk to him; _Toronto media_ , he thinks, and part of him is still numb but part of him is already figuring out how to adapt. He gives an interview, doesn't correct the guy who keeps calling him Alex, is a little too honest when he says that he'd been stunned by the call. He hadn't slipped up, though, hadn't said anything he shouldn't have, and that's good enough, probably.

Alexander checks the clock when he hangs up. It's only been about forty-five minutes since he hung up with Sakic, and he's just now starting to get the sour aftertaste in the back of his throat at the way he'd said _we appreciate everything you've done for us_ and _Toronto really, really wanted you in the deal_.

He'd texted his mom before, couldn't face calling her, and now that he's in between things he wonders if he should. Wonders if she's already on her way over, or if she's trying to give him space. Wonders if—

There's a knock at the door.

It makes him smile briefly as he stands and walks for the door. Speak of the devil, or think of the devil, or—

He opens the door, and—

"Hi," Tyson says, stepping inside and wrapping him into a hug in the same movement. "JT's on his way."

Alexander blinks. "JT's in Hawaii," he says, arms automatically wrapping around Tyson's waist.

"I mean, currently, but not for long," Tyson says. "I have his flight details. He's in the air in, like, an hour."

"Oh," Alexander says, voice quiet, and then he lets his forehead drop to Tyson's shoulder.

Tyson sighs, and Alexander's close enough to feel how it shudders through his ribcage, like he's trying to hold back his feelings, trying to keep his shit together. It's like right after the playoffs, their desperation getting them nowhere that mattered, and it's the same feeling in a different context because they're never going to play together again, and—

Alexander squeezes him tighter, and his own breath is shuddery now, too.

"Inside," Tyson says, clutching him back. "We gotta—babe, c'mon. We have to close the door."

"Right," Alexander mutters, telling his fingers to loosen up, his arms to fall to his sides. He can take a step back. He can let Tyson walk more than a foot into the entryway. He can—watch, he thinks, as Tyson turns and shuts the door and locks it before reaching out to lace his fingers carefully through Alexander's.

"Have you made yourself tea yet?" Tyson asks, heading for the kitchen. "I don't smell tea."

"I—no," Alexander says as he follows Tyson down the hallway. "I've—there's been phone calls and stuff."

"Okay," Tyson says. He leads Alexander to a chair and puts a gentle hand on his back, urging him to sit before walking towards the kettle. "What kind do you want?"

Alexander blinks. "Tys?"

"Yeah?" Tyson asks, pausing and turning to look back at him.

"I got traded," he says, and it's like he's sounding the words out, trying to taste them out loud for the first time. They don't taste like anything, he finds, and he's not sure why he thought they'd be bitter.

"You did," Tyson says, and it's soft, careful. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," Alexander says, the word coming out with more force than he necessarily intended it to. "No, I—no."

"Okay," Tyson says. He puts his hand on Alexander's shoulder, not squeezing, just resting there. "Okay."

-0-

JT comes in like a firestorm, a burst of scowling frenetic energy that's almost refreshing.

"I'm sorry" are the first words out of his mouth, and they're closely followed by "I'd offer to fistfight Sakic, but I don't think that's what you want."

The smile feels like it's cracking across Alexander's face, but in a way where he doesn't mind the hurt. "Just come here," he says, holding his hand out, and JT's across the living room and dropping to the sofa in a heartbeat. It's a little easier to breathe curled into JT's chest, a little easier to think with Tyson holding his hand.

A little. But it's something.

-0-

"Hey," JT says. It's so late it's early again, and Alexander doesn't think any of them slept, even though they've had no problem successfully jamming three of them into a bed before. "You know this doesn't change anything, right?"

Alexander laughs. It sounds rusty, a little choked off, but that's all he has to give right now. "Of course it does."

"No," Tyson says. "It doesn't. Not for me, not for us."

"If you want it to change things for you," JT starts, and Alexander squeezes his eyes shut. "It's—we don't want you to not be part of this anymore. Of us. It'll be different, but it doesn't have to be over."

"JT paid sixteen dollars for internet on the plane just so he could text me that 'put it back' meme two dozen times while he was in the air," Tyson adds. JT snorts, and there's a movement, something Alexander can't see with the way he's cuddled against Tyson, but then Tyson flinches and laughs.

Alexander smiles. That's two, since the news broke. Two more than he figured he'd have this soon.

"I don't want it to change anything," he says. "I don't—I have no idea how it'll work, but I don't want to lose this any more than I already have."

JT shifts behind him, settling as a warm line of heat pressed against Alexander's back. His arm slides easily into place across Alexander's waist, and Tyson starts pushing his fingers through Alexander's hair.

"We're not going anywhere," Tyson says, voice quiet but steadfast, steady. "Not in any way that really matters."

Alexander nods and closes his eyes. "If you're sure."

"We're sure," JT says, voice low and soothing. He presses a kiss to Alexander's shoulder. "We're always gonna be sure of you."

And the funny thing is—or maybe the best thing, Alexander's not sure if he's got his emotions right at the moment, but it feels like the best thing—

The best thing is, he believes it.

**Author's Note:**

> i may never forgive joe sakic for this.
> 
> in which i am jt compher, for i too would fistfight joe sakic, and i have also used the put it back meme roughly two dozen times since the news broke a few hours ago.


End file.
